Letters to Her Lover
by Anaastas
Summary: Roderich Edelstein and Elizaveta Héderváry have been engaged for three long years. However, in the few weeks before their official wedding, Roderich discovers a letter, written from Elizaveta to a certain "lover" of hers. PruHunAus oneshot, mostly PruHun


**Letters to Her Lover**

_Roderich Edelstein and Elizaveta Héderváry have been engaged for three long years. However, in the few weeks before their official wedding, Roderich discovers a letter, written from Elizaveta to a certain "lover" of hers. Will conflict arise and drive a wedge between the husband- and wife-to-be?_

"Elizaveta! What is the meaning of this?"

My voice rang through the living room, creating an echo I was unfamiliar with. I had never realized that my gentle, musical vocal chords could produce such a loud and harsh tone. It was evident Elizaveta had not realized this, either, for her head snapped up from the novel she was reading and she cringed away, hiding all but her eyes behind the book.

"R-Roderich, what's wrong? Why are you so angry with me?" she stammered in reply, obviously alarmed by my sudden outburst. Her frightened eyes and worried expression normally would have caused my anger to melt, but the crinkled paper in my hand prevented me from forgetting my frustration.

"Elizaveta Héderváry, we are to be married within a matter of weeks, am I wrong?" I questioned, the pitch of my words low and interrogating.

She gave me an odd look, glancing from the intricate golden band on her ring finger back to me. The brunette gave a slow shake of her head. "No, you are right, Roderich. Our marriage is scheduled for the twentieth of next month." She replied, speaking slowly as if she was afraid her answer would be incorrect.

"You love me, right?"

"Of course, Roderich." Her response was immediate, almost rehearsed.

I raised the stationary in my hand, letting her catch a full view of the words scribbled across it. "Then what, may I ask, is this?" I demanded, glaring at her with violet eyes from over my spectacles.

Elizaveta slowly lowered her novel into her lap, leaning forward to examine the paper I held closely. She opened her mouth to reply, then gave an uncertain look and stared down at her feet. In shame? Confusion? Denial? I honestly could not tell.

In place of her lack of a reply, I turned the letter so that I could view it, pushing my glasses up onto the bridge of my nose and furrowing my eyebrows as I re-read the part that irked me the most. "'Gil, you mean so much to me. So many things have happened since you have gone away, and so many things have changed. However, in the middle of all these changes in my life, I never, for even a second, have forgotten you. I know I will see you again, and I long for the moment that we will be able to embrace each other without any care in the world. Your lover, Ellie.'" I finished the paragraph with a low note, my nose wrinkled in distaste. The paper fell to the floor beside my foot, abandoned, and I took a confrontational step towards my fiancé. "I was not aware that you had a _lover_, Elizaveta." I remarked coldly.

The Hungarian's cheeks tinted red for reasons that I could never understand. She closed the novel situated on her knees, reaching for the note that lay beside my shoe. Elizaveta took it in her hands and carefully folded it so that her incriminating words were hidden from my eyes. Again, I gave her a disapproving look, and again, she turned her gaze to the floor. "Roderich, I am sorry." She murmured softly, slipping the paper in between the pages of her book.

I pursed my lips as a long silence filled the room. Unable to stand the tense hush any longer, I relaxed my hostile and angered stance. "Sorry for what, Elizaveta?" I asked, my irritated tone lapsing into its regular, melodious nature.

When she looked up at me, her eyes, the color of the forest itself, showed the slightest hints of what might have been tears. Before I could take a closer glance, though, she quickly ran her sleeve across her face. "I should have told you about this sooner, Roderich. I just didn't think…" she trailed off, biting her lip nervously.

"You didn't think what?" I prompted, feeling guilty for throwing her into such a sudden situation. As always, my sympathetic attitude claimed the best of me when I was with her. She was the only woman, no, the only person in the world whom I could never stay angry with.

"I did not think that a thing like this would matter to you so much." Elizaveta began again, absentmindedly fingering the single part of the note that hung out from the novel. "I am sorry."

Another quiet spell cast itself across our conversation, but, again, I broke it with a sigh. "Elizaveta, take me to this man."

My request was so soft and hesitant that it didn't seem like Elizaveta had heard it, at first. However, she slowly looked up at me, her mouth gaping open slightly at my change of heart. "You…want to meet Gil?" she queried, her voice growing just as uncertain as mine.

I removed my glasses from my face, cleaning them with the tail of my shirt to give my hands something to do. "Yes. I want to meet this 'Gil' you have been writing to. If he truly is your lover, then I wish to have a word with him." In anticipation of a worried expression crossing her face, I reassured her, "I just want to talk to him. Nothing more. I have a right to speak with the man who has captured the attention of my future wife, do I not?"

Elizaveta parted her lips to protest my demands, but thought the better of it and simply nodded. "Very well, Roderich. I will take you to meet Gil." Her voice was almost a whisper, and as she rose to her feet, hands clenching the book she held tightly, I could not help but wonder what I was getting into.

It felt like there was something very important about Gil that I did not understand.

The clop of horse's hooves dominated the air of the carriage ride. Elizaveta hung her head and kept her eyes closed for a majority of the time, only giving half-hearted, distracted replies when I tried to make conversation. I had crossed the carriage to take my seat beside her, but even as I laid my slender, musician's hands on hers, she refused to look up. After a while, she merely laid her head against my shoulder, turning her gaze to the passing countryside.

I suspected that the dreary weather could have been a factor in her gloomy mood. The sky was cloaked in dark stratus clouds, and rain drizzled down steadily. The carriage's resilient driver would receive a generous tip, if the wet weather continued.

The scenery passed by slower and slower, and after about a half an hour's drive, we came to a halt. The carriage jerked slightly, and I could hear the steed that pulled it snorting and stamping in impatience. It obviously was unhappy about being away from its stable stall.

I reached out to shake Elizaveta, but as my hand hovered over her shoulder, her eyes flickered open. She slowly sat up, her crestfallen expression brightening slightly as she realized where we had stopped. After a few moments of lifeless silence, she turned to me, giving a sad smile. "Time for you to meet Gil."

I was taken aback at how pained she sounded, despite her seemingly-cheerful face. I believe I may have even raised my eyebrows in surprise, for she chuckled at my astonished look. As quickly as I could, I regained my composure, clearing my throat and averting my gaze from her face. Again, she laughed, and after another brief silence, she opened the door to the carriage and carefully made her way down to the soggy ground before lifting the hood of her cloak over her head.

I followed, mentally smacking myself for not getting out to open the door for her. Some gentleman I was. I lowered myself down the steps, closing the carriage door carefully and giving a look of thanks to the weary carriage driver. He gave me an odd look, his eyes alternating between me and our destination. Then, he gave a nod, leaping from his high seat on the carriage to hold his anxious horse in place.

I turned to face Elizaveta, parting my lips to make a casual remark about how her "Gil" must have been antisocial, to live in such an isolated area. However, as my eyes came across her slight figure, they locked on the place that she had directed us to.

And I froze.

The gate before me that led to Gil's home consisted of two marble columns, both a good half a foot taller than I, topped with beautifully engraved crosses. The fencing around his residence was wrought iron that was as black as night, and the same material made up the gate that rested between the two columns.

Statues of cherubs and cloaked maidens spread across his yard, each one different in its own way. Their stone had been stained and eroded from years of Mother Nature's relentless abuse, but they stood strong, their eyes boring into mine as if they could see my very soul.

The gate in front of me was twisted into an elegant design, obviously the work of a talented ironsmith. However, it was not the tangled iron, the towering columns, the intimidating fence, or the prying statues that cause me discomfort. It was the words that the clever ironsmith had chosen to weave into the gate's design.

"_Gib ihnen die ewige Ruhe, o Gott_."

The words of my native language rolled off my tongue with wisps of visible air as I stared at the entrance in shock. Elizaveta took a hold of the beautiful yet morbid gate, gently opening it and ignoring the squeals it gave in protest. She motioned for me to follow, and I did so, venturing inside the fence with her.

We made our way down the walkway in silence. Instead of keeping her eyes locked on her feet, like she had done ever since I had shown her the letter, Elizaveta kept her eyes set on a single target, gripping the cloak she wore tightly.

My focus, on the other hand, flickered all around the eerie grounds. The gazes of the statues, who were now accompanied by flat slabs of rock and miniature towers, still raked over me critically. It was all I could do not to whimper in discomfort.

Elizaveta led me deep into the heart of the grassy area, taking side path after side path across ground that sagged underneath my feet from the rain that was beginning to fall harder. She seemed so distant, yet so alert. I assumed that she had traveled the path we were currently on many times, possibly even long before I had ever entered her life.

At last, she came to a halt in front of a small slab of rock with a circular top. It was not elegant, nor was it flamboyant. It was a simple little thing, almost sad, really. The poor stone would have seemed very lonely, were it not for the small, leather-bound journal that rested in front of it.

Elizaveta knelt down in the front of the rock, removing her hood and bowing her head. She clasped her hands tightly, taking a deep breath before she closed her eyes and began to murmur a familiar phrase. "_Miatyánk, aki a mennyekben vagy_…"

I felt my throat contract, and I cleared it once again, examining the slab that laid before us.

"…_Szenteltessék meg a Te neved. Jöjjön el a Te országod, Legyen meg a te akaratod_…"

I squinted hard, and eventually, after I removed my glasses, I was able to make out the etchings that made their home within the stone.

"…_Amint a mennyben, úgy a földön is. Mindennapi kenyerünket add meg nekünk ma, És bocsássd meg a mi vétkeinket_…"

As her words floated through the now frigid air, my eyes narrowed. Beilschmidt was his name. Gilbert Beilschmidt. By the sound of his name, I concluded he was of Germanic descent, as I was.

"…_miként mi is megbocsátunk az ellenünk vétkezőkne_…"

His birth date was marked as April tenth, while the date of his death was labeled as the twenty-fifth of February. According to the years, he was only about six years younger than I was when he passed. Gilbert was only nineteen when his life was taken from him.

"…_És ne vígy minket a kísértésbe, de szabadíts meg a gonosztól_…"

The rain came harder, splashing across the stones despite Elizaveta's sincere prayer. I removed my coat and laid it across her shoulders, allowing the moisture to soak into my shirt. The shirt would probably be ruined after being subjected to such a steady rainfall, but I paid no heed to it.

"…_Mert tiéd az Ország, a Hatalom és a Dicsőség, mindörökkön-örökké_."

Elizaveta brushed her soft brown hair away from her forehead, touching it briefly before signing the holy cross across herself as she uttered the last words of her prayer. I followed suit, my eyes never leaving her.

"_Ámen_." She whispered, her thoughtful eyes locked on her lover's name.

I groped for words that would not come to me. "Elizaveta, I am so sorry." It was simple, but it was the only phrase I could get past my lips. I felt horrible, and it took all of my strength not to beg her for forgiveness.

Elizaveta smiled, tearing her gaze away from Gilbert's grave and focusing it on me. "There is no need to apologize, Roderich. I am the one at fault here. I have been writing letters to Gilbert for a long while now. I should have told you about him the day you proposed." She apologized, reaching out to take my hand.

She squeezed it gently, and I had to practically choke to hold back all the emotions that ran through me. How was it that she was so calm about the whole thing, while I was the one preparing to bawl uncontrollably? I took a deep and shaky breath, returning her smile. "There was no fault in hiding him from me." Was all I said.

Elizaveta's smile grew the slightest bit brighter, and it soon looked like the genuine grin she wore whenever we embraced each other or when I played my compositions for her. She leaned forward, giving me a soft kiss on the lips before resting her forehead against mine. "Roderich, I love you. I really love you. Gilbert was a childhood friend, but you are my fiancé. He could never compete with you." She whispered to me.

I bit my lip as I watched her hesitantly slip the folded letter from before between the pages of the journal in front of Gilbert's grave. "And I love you too, Elizaveta. Forgive me for doubting you."

After a few moments, I pulled away, trying my best to put on a true, delighted smile. "Now, then. This has been a very sobering meeting, but I am afraid that if we stay here any longer, our carriage driver will have to maneuver the roads in the dark. Shall we go?" I requested.

Elizaveta stood, brushing the mud and blades of grass from her cloak. "Let's go home, Roderich." She agreed, her face becoming more blissful by the second. It was as if she had almost forgotten the dead man that lay underneath her feet.

I sent her back to the carriage before me, claiming I had dropped my glasses in the grass somewhere. Of course, this was a lie. My glasses had remained in the pocket of my trousers ever since I had taken them off. Elizaveta did not protest, though, and made her way back towards the entrance of the burial grounds without a word.

I took the leather journal carefully in my hands, untying the string that was wrapped around it to hold its soggy pages in place. I was not a fool. I had heard the waver in her voice when she had claimed that Gilbert was only a childhood friend. I had seen the regret in her eyes when she had to leave his grave.

As I scanned the letters that the journal contained, I began tearing up. The first letter she had ever written to him was dated only a week after his death. She had been writing to him for _six years_.

I flipped through the pages quickly, pausing when I came across a familiar date. The eighth of June, the day I proposed to Elizaveta. I took a quick glance over the letter, but my quick reading pace slowed and I had to read a certain section aloud just to comprehend it.

"'Gil, I don't know what to do. Today, Roderich proposed to me. Naturally, I said yes, but I feel torn. I love him so much, but I love you too, Gil, and that will never change…'"

My throat tightened, and this time I could not stop the tears from coming. It was funny, really. Here I was, Roderich Edelstein, prodigy and famous pianist of Austria, crying over a man that I did not even know. I closed the journal, binding the string around it again and wrapping the cravat I had previously worn around my neck about it.

Slowly I rose to my feet, my fingers brushing across his epitaph, which I had not noticed before. "_Gegangen aber nicht vergessen_."

I chuckled softly. "How true. She may be my wife Gilbert Beilschmidt, but her heart will never be mine." I mumbled, turning away from his grave and sticking my hands in my pockets.

"No, her heart died long ago. With you."

* * *

><p><strong>Translations<strong>

_Gib ihnen die ewige Ruhe, o Gott_.

Grant them eternal rest, O God. (German)

_Miatyánk, aki a mennyekben vagy,_  
><em>Szenteltessék meg a Te neved.<em>  
><em>Jöjjön el a Te országod,<em>  
><em>Legyen meg a te akaratod,<em>  
><em>Amint a mennyben, úgy a földön is.<em>  
><em>Mindennapi kenyerünket add meg nekünk ma,<em>  
><em>És bocsássd meg a mi vétkeinket,<em>  
><em>miként mi is megbocsátunk az ellenünk vétkezőknek.<em>  
><em>És ne vígy minket a kísértésbe,<em>  
><em>de szabadíts meg a gonosztól.<em>  
><em>Mert tiéd az Ország, a Hatalom és a Dicsőség,<em>  
><em>mindörökkön-örökké. Ámen.<em>

Our Father, who art in Heaven,  
>hallowed be Thy Name.<br>Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done,  
>on Earth, as it is in Heaven.<br>Give us this day our daily bread,  
>and forgive us our trespasses,<br>as we forgive those who trespass against us.  
>And lead us not into temptation,<br>but deliver us from evil.  
>For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory,<br>for ever and ever. Amen.

The Lord's Prayer (Hungarian)

_Gegangen aber nicht vergessen_.

Gone, but not forgotten. (German)


End file.
